


Honey and the Moon

by the_dala



Series: Honey and the Moon-verse [1]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, M/M, Romance, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 19:23:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3740692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_dala/pseuds/the_dala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cross with her lover, Elizabeth goes wandering on the streets of Port Royal and comes across a most interesting sight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honey and the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Joseph Arthur.
> 
> I'm archiving my old PotC fic - this was originally published April 18th, 2004. It's the first story in a series.

Elizabeth is fairly deep in her cups when she stumbles out of the tavern and into the streets of Port Royal, but having Jack for her measure of drunkenness, she figures she’s not too badly off. She is, at least, sober enough to realize that visiting her father at this hour, in these clothes, carrying this scent, is not the brightest of ideas. And since either the rooms above the taverns or the _Pearl’s_ cabins are sure to be harboring the one person she’s determined to avoid tonight, there is no question of seeking refuge there.

Catching sight of the boot hanging off the back entrance to the cobbler’s, she remembers that the smithy is right next door. Surely Will might offer her sanctuary for the night, provided he isn't still angry about the whole running-off-with-pirates business. And even if he is, she can think of a thing or two that might soften his ire, not to mention cheer herself up.

Lurching a bit, she sidles up to the window of Will’s small chamber in back of the forge, through which she crept more than once when they were still engaged. A dark curtain doesn't quite close at the left edge, as if it was drawn with haste. Before she can tap on the glass, she sees that Will already has company – and what company indeed.

The room is lit by a fat, flickering candle. Will is in bed, stretched out on his back. The sheets lie rumpled on either side of him, clenched tightly in his fists, and his head is thrown back on the pillow. Her eyes travel down his sweat-slicked torso to the fall of dark hair between his legs, obscuring the face of the visitor curled over Will’s lower half. Well, good for him, she thinks – he never mentioned this particular act of love on the handful of nights she shared his bed, though she might have been willing to try it for the experience. And for that look on his face. She can’t recall exactly how he looked like when he was poised above her, because she usually had her eyes shut with fierce concentration on her own pleasure. Afterwards his expression was always sated but unsure, as if she’d done him a kindness he didn't feel he deserved.

Tonight, under the hidden ministrations of this mystery lover, his eyelids flutter at half-mast and he bites his lip as his legs squirm beneath the hands pinning him down. There is something unaccountably pure about the joy on his face, something almost innocent. She almost feels guilty for watching. Almost – but he is so lovely, with his chestnut curls in a damp tangle on the pillow, pink color touching his cheekbones. A low moan parts his swollen lips, just barely audible through the window. Her own breathing hitches as Will’s starts to speed up, a familiar knot gathering low in her belly. He calls out again, a name this time – “James...”

Elizabeth frowns slightly, looking back down to his shrouded partner. Truthfully she'd been too focused on the sight of Will to take much notice of anything else, but in the dim light she can definitely make out the form of a man. Interesting. Come to think of it, she may have heard Will mumble Jack’s name in his sleep once, but at the time she believed it to be ‘hat.’ He did so love that feathered buccaneer hat of his.

Long, elegant fingers tighten on Will’s thighs, preventing him from thrusting upward as he writhes, his mouth open on a drawn-out groan. He runs his hands down his own body, reaching out to tangle them in the dark, tousled hair of the man between his legs. His climax arches his back gracefully and his final exhaled words are too quiet for her to hear. She can't quite bring herself to look away, wondering who it is that’s just swallowed his copious release. James, he said – does she know a James?

The man raises his head , tongue slipping out to catch errant droplets at the corners of his lips, and Elizabeth’s knees go even weaker. Dear God, of course – James Norrington. Of all the men Will could have bedded...

She knows the man, and yet she doesn't. The commodore would never smile with such affection, much less at a spent lover, and he would never crawl up that quivering body to rain gentle kisses on closed eyelids. He shifts to the side, leaning down over Will and giving her a good full-length glance at him. Oh dear. No, that is definitely not the commodore she knew as her first beau. Could she have had no inkling whatsoever, with those well-tailored breeches? She knows from experience that the blacksmith is nothing to turn one’s nose up at, but his James – for Will’s arms going tight around the man brand him as such – his James must have been a very, very good boy in a former life.

It's merely aesthetic appreciation, she consoles her twinge of conscience. She hasn't set foot in an art gallery in too long a time, but here is a sight she would liken to a statue of creamy Italian marble, or a brightly painted Greek fresco.

Yes, she concludes as Will and Norrington twine their legs together, kissing as avidly as any duelists cross blades. Definitely Greek.

She wonders how hefty a sum Jack would pay to see this.

Knowing she ought to turn away, she watches as James pulls back to stroke tender fingers along Will’s cheek, talking too low for her to hear. Will kisses James just to the left of his mouth and replies equally _sotto voce_ , bright contentment shining from his eyes. Whatever he says causes the commodore to toss his head back in a laugh, his brow wrinkling quite adorably as he buries his face in Will’s neck. She had no idea that the stern Norrington possessed such an inclination as laughter.

He is still clearly – _very_ clearly – unsatisfied, but he ignores his own needs to kiss and fondle Will, bringing him back to hardness more quickly than she thought men were capable of. When Will lifts his legs for James to kneel between them, displaying a surprising flexibility, she knows that she can’t look away now. Curiosity floods her in regards to this illicit union between men; she’s listened to her captain take more than one irritatingly vocal partner in his cabin, but she’s never gotten the chance to ask him about the mechanics of the act. 

James reaches towards the bedside table for a small clay jar. Will takes it from him to tug out the stopper, watching with increasingly labored breathing as James dips his fingers inside. They come up shiny – oil, she guesses. Will shudders at the caress of slick fingers on his shaft, gripping James’ free arm hard enough to leave a mark. After a few moments they shift slightly and the sheets bunch up so that she can’t quite see what is happening, but James smothers a moan against Will’s mouth as his hand works down between their bodies. Finished with the contents of the little jar, Will sets it carefully aside before he returns both arms to encircle his lover, who hovers over him. The sheets are disturbed by James’s braced forearms and she can now see him position himself, then the strong, smooth – _push_ – into Will, whose face tightens in apparent discomfort. Understandable, from what Elizabeth has newly seen of James, but she frowns at the notion nonetheless.

She needn't have worried. James holds himself still and murmurs softly, his thumb stroking a peaked brown nipple. After a moment Will nods and James begins to move. His hips rock back and forward again, slow and gentle. Will visibly relaxes and gets that rapturous look again, though this time he keeps his eyes open and on James, who is breathing harshly, his hair falling into his face. Will reaches up to push it back behind an ear, revealing pinched, almost pained features. Lifting his head, he whispers in James’s ear, something that makes him gasp aloud and slip out of rhythm; when he picks it up again, his thrusts are a bit harder, a bit quicker, and it seems to please his partner quite well. Elizabeth finds it interesting that Will sets the pace as much as James does, if not more; even more interesting is the way he seems to be privy to this wanton side of James’ nature, stoking a desire that must have been been there beneath the starched uniform and stilted speech all along. She understands now how they missed the single shaft of moonlight through the window. The entire world could walk by this window and they would not notice; green eyes see only wide brown, and vice versa.

Something deep within Will must be sparked by James’ powerful thrusts, for she can just hear the hoarse cries he lets out again and again. Still, she is somewhat relieved when James adjusts his position to grasp Will's cock in a firm pull, a motion with which she is much more familiar. Their mouths are pressed together now, sometimes kissing, sometimes parting for words she can’t make out, rocked by their own tides. She wonders what they are saying, if Will is begging, if James is telling him how beautiful he is. If they’re proclaiming love or if they’re celebrating in great detail how their bodies fit and move and work together.

All she hears is one final wordless groan as Will empties himself into a ready palm. A smile curves her lips as she remembers the first time she and Will laid hands on one another – the same thing happened and far too soon, much to his shame. He was more nervous than she, trembling and pale and desperate to please her.

His hands on James’s hips through a few final thrusts are sure, as sure as Elizabeth's touch on her own lover. They've come admirably far, but the memories of that first time will never fade, at least for her.

James comes under Will’s urging and his voice breaks, though he manages to keep himself from collapsing atop Wi'lls prone form. Instead he withdraws carefully and settles against Will’s side. They caress each other, comforting through the fall back to earth. It must have been such a shock the first time they did something like this, each drifting back through soporific release to find himself in the arms of another man.

Perhaps it is only her assumption that they are each the other’s first foray into the grievous offense of sodomy. To look at them, they are the first of everything for one another.

She is not surprised to feel a damp warmth between her thighs, but the tears she wipes away with her sleeve are unexpected.

Casting one last look through the window, she sees the still oblivious pair exchange a fragile, almost chaste kiss, wrapped up together in the guttering candlelight. Elizabeth turns back the way she came.

Jack is stumbling towards her through the alley. She rushes to still him before he can make a noise to stir the blacksmith and his guest.

Rum is heavy on the captain’s breath and he tilts forward over her arm. “Got finger'd for messenger duty,” he says, blinking at her raised eyebrows. “An’maria sent me t’tell you she’s awful sorry and she has watch tonight if you should want to go talk. _Please_ do,” he adds with an exaggerated wince. “I can’t abide two hellcats on my ship at once, Lizzie.”

Renewed anger colors Elizabeth’s hissed words. “Sent you, did she? Could she not come speak to me her own bloody self? The woman is...” She pauses, an image of James loving Will falling crossways through her mind.

“Stubborn, I know,” says Jack. “Temper to match your own, love, and it’s a wonder the two of ye haven’t managed to burn each other up as yet.”

Elizabeth rubs her bare forearms against a sudden gusting breeze. It's growing late in the year and there is rain on the air. The _Pearl_ will be warmer than shore tonight, and her own bed more welcome than an empty one.

“You don’t have to convince me,” she says quietly before Jack can launch into what is obviously an elaborate speech on Anamaria’s behalf – or at least on the behalf of the prospect of peace between the quarreling females in his crew. “I’m going to her right now.”

Jack claps in approval and she drags his hands down, shushing him.

“What’s that?” he stage-whispers, peering at her in confusion.

She bites her lip in thought while she studies him, then draws him over to the window at the back of the forge. The light has been blown out, but their eyes gradually filter enough moonlight to paint the picture within: James now on his back, Will cradled against him, their hands clasped above the coverlet as they sleep.

Jack’s mouth goes perfectly round. Then he smiles - gently, indulgently, a little sadly. She thinks on his last conquest: just this morning, in a rented room above the tavern. She tries to remember anyone staying a whole night with him in the six months she’s been aboard, and comes up empty. She'd think that would suit him but for the way he's gazing upon Will and James.

“Pretty,” he murmurs.

“I've always thought so,” she says, waiting for him to meet her eyes. When he does, he cocks his head in silent question at her stare. She takes him by his braided beard and tugs him forward for a kiss, the first they've shared since her second night under his command, when she’d gotten well and truly drunk and tried clumsily to seduce him. He’d turned her down, held her hair back while she vomited after bursting into tears at his rejection, and tucked her into his own bunk. When she woke in the morning it was Anamaria who sat by her side with a nauseating hangover brew, the concern in her eyes not quite belayed by her curt voice.

It's a simple thing to slip into his arms once she imagines another pair sliding around her waist as well, slender and dark and much beloved.

Jack looks at her through his long lashes when she releases him. “You sure this is goin’ to go over well with your girl?”

Elizabeth smiles and turns toward the docks, tucking herself under his arm. “I’ll talk her ‘round.”

“‘F anyone can manage it, you can,” says Jack, the note of trepidation gone from his smooth voice.

She can manage it, she thinks, and she shall.


End file.
